HELL WEEK
I had another bad week. I woke up Monday with incredible rheumatoid arthritis pain in hands, wrists, elbows. I could hardly move my hands enough to get out of bed, so I screamed and yelled at God and behaved badly mostly. Ha. And then of course he made me ashamed by having the doctor’s office call about another matter, a possible UTI. I told the nurse about the terrible arthritis pain; the doctor prescribed prednisone. Mary picked it up and even the first dose calmed things down nicely. Thank God, really, even after my bad behavior. The pain is back down to where it was. I just hope it stays there.
Of course, since I began taking the drugs I haven’t really slept. I was up all night last night. I’m learning to say the rosary without the props: no beads or voice support. My mind, however, jumps. 2:30 to 4:30 a.m. I was up last night, saying the Rosary, praying, trying to sleep. When I saw how much time I had spent on praying and talking to God, humbly this time, I of course was immediately proud of my accomplishment.
I have still been watching the way my mind works during these late night early morning Rosary sessions. Last night I was so tired from the sleepless preceding sleepless night that I managed only 2 decades, and those at different times. I’m getting better at holding the count in my mind, but not much. However, I discovered a way, more or less to keep the focus on the prayers. Above my bed and down a bit is my shelf of religious icons of various sorts. Next to the crucifix on the left there are 3 Eastern Orthodox icons: the sweetness of Mary and child; the blessing Jesus; and Christ pantocrator. If while saying the Rosary I look at the Mary icon “full of Grace” and then at the Christ icon when I get to “and the fruit of her womb Jesus,” I can keep my mind fairly well focused on the repetitions, still using my fingers to keep track. Other thoughts keep trying to take over, but I am learning to keep my mind focused. Last night I tried without using the icons once or twice, but I almost immediately lost the attention to the prayers. I still haven’t learned how to make my mind say the Hail Maries while also thinking about one the Rosary mysteries. At least I’m getting better at seeing how my mind does or doesn’t work; that is fascinating. Material matter [clay] contains the immaterial thoughts [ideas]. I wonder if that phenomenon is unique in the cosmos. 1/20/25
Thoughts on my suffering always lead me to thoughts on my death. On the one hand it seems to me very clear that human life is grounded in the physical so that once I am dead I remain dead until I receive a transformed body as with Jesus in the resurrection. That I think is the basis for the Christian virtue of hope. I think there is much more to be thought here, but that is the central focus for me. In a sense I hope that what my faith reveals is true.
I suspect that one of the central elements in my suffering is to make me let go. Life is very good until it hurts so much that I can do nothing but suffer. I have had those moments where I am quite willing to let go and even ask for a release: that is, to die, no euphemisms allowed. I absolutely refuse to pass away or to believe that my soul will fly off to Heaven. Everyone dies.
At this point I imagine too that death is primarily falling asleep; falling asleep is pleasant; not being able to fall asleep is not pleasant, as my experience of several nights ago affirmed. Of course with the sleep image we might move into Hamlet territory: “who knows what dreams may come, must give us pause,” especially if one is contemplating self slaughter. So sometimes death for me is desirable; mostly I value life which is worth holding on to, but not at the expense of eternity. Just let me finish this novel, please. Life is a very good gift, and not something we have given ourselves. 1/20/25
Follow up: 1/26/25
The prednisone wore off after the 5 dose and the pain returned with a vengeance. The doctor said there was nothing more he could do. So there I sat in my big chair with pain level at 9/10, especially when I moved. Neck, collarbone, fingers, wrists, elbows: it hurt to get up; it hurt to hold a spoon to eat; and so on. Then yesterday, the 25th, one of the caretakers who deals with the wounds on my feet, brought me a tube of cream made especially to deal with arthritis pain. The interesting thing is that it seems to be working. The pain lessens. Hands work better. Etc.
However, my Job-like situation also increased last night, early this morning. The catheter stopped working. The bladder fills with urine, the pressure increases, the pain is soon intolerable. So, I called the person who used to work for Commonwealth and who had changed the catheter various times in the past. Though he was working in another city, he came and rang out the old defective device and rang in the new. Instant relief. What I’m moving toward here is the idea of secondary causes. Is this help I received how God answers prayers? I had looked at my icons, prayed fervently since the pain was excruciating, and then called Andrew. Though he was in the middle of his delivery work, he came. Secondary causes: one prays, God is silent as usual, but help comes. That reminds me of the story or parable of the man in a flood who was stuck on top of his slowly sinking house. He prayed to God to save him. A man on the shore with a rope tried to help, then a man in a row boat, and finally men in a helicopter. The man on the sinking house refused them all, telling each rescuer that God would come. When the man drowned and met God at the gates of Heaven, he accused God of not answering his prayer. God of course responded that he had sent the man three means of escape but that the man had rejected all of them. The Divine works in secondary causes. I think. As I look back over my life, I see many instances of that kind of answered prayer. And I am always grateful. I consider these experiences as evidence that we are under His protection, though not necessarily as proof of the Divine reality. Still, my faith came as the consequence of such a prayer 62 years ago: Lord I believe, help my unbelief, and He did. Faith was nothing that I could have given myself; it came as a gift and is probably the most real thing about me.
Image: my shelf with its icons in my room. Enlarge the picture to see the details.
